Touch
by Mali Bear's Buddy
Summary: Dean considers his life - past and present - and the effect love has had on him. 1st person POV. See companion piece "Demons" by stephaniew.


**A/N: **Just a little experiment to see if I could crawl into Dean's head. My buddy **stephaniew** and I have been challenging each other a bit and this was one of the results. Be sure to check out her "Demons" and let us know what you think!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Supernatural_.

Touch

It's dark and stormy out. But this isn't one of those damn horror movies. You know, the ones where they never quite get the monsters right?

This is my life. I've seen things. I've done things. Things that have changed me. Things that have effected who I am. Not that I was ever really normal to start with.

I stare out the window, watching the lightning flash through the sky. I see the Impala getting pelted by the rain and it makes me think of my old man. Makes me think of the ways that I'm like him. The ways that I _want_ to be like him, have tried to be like him. And, as her arms snake around my waist, I think of all the ways I hope I'm not like him at all.

In a lot of ways she's like the weather I'm watching. A jolt of electricity through my body, reminding me what it's like to be alive. Rain that cleanses and renews me. She makes me forget a lot of things. Feel a lot of things. And the thought of losing her terrifies me.

"Come back to bed," she purrs, nuzzling against my shoulder. Her voice is deep with sleep.

"I will in a minute," I tell her. There are too many things in my head right now. Too many doubts. Not about her, but about myself. About whether she'd still be here if she knew half the shit I've done. How I've tortured people. How, as much as I'd hate myself for it, I'd do it all over again. For her. For Sam.

"Dean," she protests, pressing herself against me.

Her skin is warm and hard to resist. I want to lose myself in her heat. To bury myself within her and forget everything. But right now I feel cold. Cold in a way she can't warm me. Cold because I'm starting to worry I'm in danger of becoming my old man.

While I idolized him, my father was an asshat. He said he did things to protect us, but I've come to realize that was bullshit. He did it to protect himself. And if I only know one thing, it's that I don't need protecting. Not when it comes to her.

She pulls away, but only long enough to face me. I close my eyes, afraid of what she'll see when she looks in them. I feel her palm slide over my cheek and lower my forehead to rest against hers without thought. "You okay?" she asks softly.

I force a smile. "Yeah," I tell her, hoping she doesn't catch the inflection in my tone. I brush my lips over her forehead and pull her against my chest. "I'm fine."

I feel her slip away. "Don't bullshit me, Dean," she says, her eyes on fire.

I really should know better than to try and fool her. She's not a stripper or a waitress. She's not some chick I picked up at a bar. She's tough and smart and she calls me on my crap. She knows me. Sometimes she knows me better than I know myself.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" she asks.

I take a deep breath as her lips drift over my tattoo. My thumb strokes over the smaller one that matches it on her hip. We're connected. She's every bit as much a part of me as Sam is. "I just," I start. I scramble to find something to focus on to avoid her face.

I'd forgotten I was wearing jeans until she slips her hands into my back pockets. She leans up and touches her mouth to mine. We burn hot between the sheets, but this kiss isn't about that. It's about touch.

She's all about touch. About letting me know she's there. About grounding me and bringing me back no matter how the darkness consumes me. She's quickly become my salvation. Soothing me in ways I could never have imagined.

When her fingers stroke the back of my neck, it makes me shudder. I wrap my arms around her, unable to hold off any longer. I often wonder why I still deny myself the simple pleasure of holding her when I need to be held.

I guess it's upbringing. My mom dying when I was four. Dad's vendetta and constant hunting after that. Raising Sammy when I was a child myself. Having sex just to feel something - anything - close to normal. Hating myself for the life I have and the life I wish I'd had. Being alone because I couldn't force the life I lead on someone else.

But she understands. She's a legacy hunter. She knows what it's like. It's a part of her. It's just the rest that's different.

I wasn't used to being touched by a woman outside of the bedroom. Not in the ways she touches me. Silently offering comfort, transferring strength. Looking at me like I matter. Like I really am _somebody_, not just that guy.

Thing is she does the same thing for Sam. She's become our family. She's become our heart and made us closer again. She's the glue. She binds everything together. Who'd have thought that a woman could have such power? That she could teach us trust and compassion through touch. Especially hugs.

Oh God, the hugs. The way she tucks herself into you and hugs with her whole body. The way she holds on just tight enough. Which is exactly what she's doing right now.

Her mission successful, she slips her fingers around my hand and guides me toward the bed. She curls beside me. Her body melding to mine. Her fingertips tracing soothingly over every inch of skin she can reach.

The pain won't ever go away, but it has receded. And I know she'll chase it away again as often as I need for her to. The scars will never completely heal. But they're less visible now. She's patched me up. Nursed my wounded heart by giving me hers.

When her lips brush silkily over mine, I feel it all. I feel the love of a good woman. The peace of being cared about. The comfort of touch.


End file.
